Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Harriet.” Alexander sounded somehow rather desperate.
“Please,” Harriet begged. This was precisely the type of information she needed.
“‘Whore-pipe, frigger, hair splitter, wedding tackle, bush-beater.’” Harriet’s eyes widened and she turned away from him.
“Where the devil are you going?” he growled, coming up behind her and grabbing her to him, preventing her movement.
“I have to write these down!”
He was encircling her, surrounding her. It was the most overwhelming sensation she’d ever experienced. More even than when he’d licked her quim.
“Harriet, I swear to you, I will remember every single one of them tomorrow. Perhaps even more. Please,” he bargained, his voice a desperate whisper in her ear. It was, she could admit, quite a heady experience to have Lord Alexander begging.
Harriet considered his offer, then nodded.
In that moment she realized she was being held by a very naked man.
She rested her hands on his thick forearms, arms which were still embracing her most deliciously.
She looked down, and the sight of her skirts bracketed by his bare legs was, for reasons she couldn’t articulate, unbearably erotic.
He was breathing just as heavily as she was, she was happy to note.
Alexander planted a kiss on the back of her neck, which shot a frisson down her spine; then he released her and lowered himself to the nest he’d made on the floor. She turned to face him, and it was a miracle she didn’t collapse.
Harriet sincerely hoped he would remember those words because she suddenly forgot almost every single one she knew.
She couldn’t stop staring at him. The heat in his midnight eyes made her feel as if they both might combust here together in his library.
Leonine as ever, Alexander was lounging on his side, waiting for her. She was the prey.
“I guess we better return to your cock, then,” she whispered, joining him on the blanket.
Alexander didn’t believe in seeking out pain for the sake of personal growth; life was hard enough. So he couldn’t rightfully say what had compelled him to devise this exercise, which could most accurately be described as an acute form of torture.
“Can I touch it?”
“You don’t have to ask, Harriet. I’m yours.” As soon as the words tumbled out, Alexander felt the need to hastily add, “To touch.”
Harriet knelt on the blanket next to him, dragging her gaze over him once again.
The position provoked too many fantasies.
Though, really, what position wouldn’t have?
He was distracted from this—and any—line of thinking when Harriet reached out and traced a tentative finger down his cock.
A groan he barely recognized as coming from his own mouth filled the room.
“Is that all right?” she asked, tentatively.
“Very much so,” he gritted out, shutting his eyes tightly. Watching her explorations was too much to bear.
She did it again, lightly drawing up and down his shaft.
Alexander was doing his best not to fly off the floor at her every touch.
Harriet continued, sweeping her hands down his thighs, and then back up.
Every touch was gentle and hesitant. Despite that, she let out a little hum of pleasure as she traced his hip bones and then traveled back down to his desperate, aching prick.
The sounds she was making were going to kill him.
Or make him spill his seed all over himself.
He clenched his teeth and tried to breathe through the feeling.
Then her touch stopped, and he opened his eyes to see her sitting back on her heels, hands tented together under her chin, appraising him.
She looked very much as if his body was a problem she’d like to solve; it made him feel like he’d been dipped in fire.
He met her gaze, which seemed to remind her that he was actually present in the room with her. She blushed furiously.
“Can one … well …?”
“I’ve already decided I’m going to love this question.”
Harriet reached out a hand and swatted his thigh as punishment for the teasing, though it didn’t feel like punishment at all.
“Come now,” he goaded, “don’t be shy about it. It’s only a body. We’ve all got them. Just ask.”
“I suppose I am being a bit of a ninny,” she said, dropping her hands to her thighs. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture, as if to resettle herself. “All right. I’m just going to say things.”
“You usually do,” Alexander said wryly, earning him another flirtatious swat from Harriet.
“Fine. You used your mouth on me. On my quim. I’m wondering if I might—that is, do people do that for cocks?”
Alexander’s heart had either stopped or was beating so fast that it was going to explode; he wasn’t sure, but something was wrong.
“They do,” he said in a rush, completely unable to appear uneager. Harriet laughed at him for it, which was quite a small price to pay for her to even consider the deed. She could laugh at his avidity all she wanted; he did want her mouth on his cock rather desperately. Was it so bad if she knew?
“How do I do that?”
“What?” Alexander asked, pulled out of his reverie.
“With my mouth? How do I … what do I do?”
“Quite literally anything,” Alexander practically begged, and then amended, “Well, no teeth. No biting.” Harriet smiled before leaning in. It was Alexander’s lungs that ceased to function next. But then she pulled back once more.
“I’m sorry, I just—will you at least tell me something? Explain it a bit?”
God, he’d have thought describing fellatio to a woman would have been an arousing task, but now he simply felt out of his depth. Forming cogent thoughts, let alone instruction, was proving to be rather difficult.
“Have you eaten an ice before?”
“No,” Harriet said, sadly.
“God, we’ll have to rectify that later. For now, just, well …” Alexander sat up on his elbows and tried to think of how to explain. And quickly. “Put your finger in your mouth.”
Harriet looked like she was about to question this, but at Alexander’s look, she did as he bid.
“Now suck on it for a moment, and then remove it slowly from your mouth.” Jesus, he needed to end this lesson.
Alexander watched and wished he’d had her use his finger instead.
After a dazed moment of silence, he returned to the lesson.
“Wonderful. Now do that with my cock. You can use your hand to guide it.”
“But! It’s huge!”
“You don’t have to get the whole thing in! Or you can just kiss it or lick it. At this point, I’d spend about ninety thousand pounds for you to go back to touching it.” Harriet grinned, reaching her hand out slowly to hover above him.
“Ninety thousand, huh?” She licked her lips then, the minx.
“Harriet,” Alexander growled, “if you don’t touch me in the next three seconds, I’m going to do it myself.”
“I bet you didn’t imagine having to instruct me so,” she said ruefully, leaning back over him.
“On the contrary, I imagined it quite a lot.”
“Alexander!”
“Using my name twice in one—” he began, only to have all thoughts cease when her tongue darted out of her mouth and licked the tip of him. He moaned with delight.
Harriet took him into her mouth and then his mind and heart and lungs and every other part of his body ceased to exist. He was in heaven.
She kissed and licked him, not expertly by any means, but enthusiastically.
Gleefully, almost. Knowing Harriet, she was probably more excited by learning something new than by the activity itself, but his cock couldn’t tell the difference.
He was so close to coming in her mouth before he realized he ought not do that. “Harriet. Harriet, stop. Sorry,” he said, pulling her up and off him.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, it’s only I was about to spend, and I didn’t think you’d want that in your mouth.”
“Why?”
Alexander closed his eyes for a moment; this was too much lust for a man to bear in one evening.
“Some women don’t enjoy it. It’s not particularly … pleasant, I don’t think.”
“But some women do?”
“I think so. Or they’re exquisite actresses. Hard to say.”
Harriet dipped her head back down, as if to continue, but he stayed her. “We can try another time. It’s my turn.”
In one fluid movement, he switched their positions, Harriet beneath him as he knelt over her.
He kissed his way down her body, lifting her damned gown to see her perfect, perfect quim.
Had he not been as close as he was to coming, he would have taken more time, perhaps even undressed her entirely.
As it was, he hoped that he could last through at least one climax of hers without spending.
He pushed up her skirts and began. She tasted heavenly; he could have lived here in his library between her legs.
They could ring for tea and supper when needed.
His estates might fall into ruin, and his investments might decline without oversight, but there was enough money for twenty or thirty years.
Harriet was writhing beneath him, clutching at his hair and cursing like a sailor.
Smiling against her, he added a finger, pushing into her and stroking in time with what his mouth was doing to her.
Harriet grabbed a small pillow from their nest on the floor and screamed into it, coming against his tongue.
He almost felt sad it had taken so little time, though he wasn’t sure how much longer he himself could last.
Alexander climbed up and lay down next to her, both of them breathing heavily—her in satisfaction, him with the lack of it.
Harriet came down from her orgasm and he felt her gaze travel down his body, lingering quite audaciously on his abandoned cock.
Apparently, she wasn’t the sort to spectate; she reached down and touched him.
Her eagerness was so lewd that Alexander’s eyes rolled back, and he gave up any attempt at keeping himself under control.
It took an embarrassingly few strokes before he choked out, “I’m going to—” and then he spilled all over her hand and his stomach, yelling out a rather obscene curse as he did so.